


there’s a lie that i told to you

by singlemalter



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flight Attendants, Angst, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter
Summary: Max runs into a particularly welcoming cabin attendant.





	there’s a lie that i told to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [untouchableocean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableocean/gifts).

“Excuse me, sir?”

Max stirs awake, blinking blearily to get a good look at the person looming over his seat. Muscled legs balanced on absurdly tall high heels, long black skirt, tight white blouse. 

Most importantly, the cabin attendant’s name tag reads _Charles_, and he’s looking like the goddamn cat who ate the canary. “Sir, would you like to have a look at our dinner options?”

“Um,” Max says dumbly, eyes flitting between Charles’ eyes and the bright red lipstick covering his Cupid’s bow. “Actually, can I have a Flying Dutchman?”

“Of course, sir,” Charles says with a smile. Just to add insult to injury, he sways his hips as he walks back into the galley, and Max can’t stop watching.

He busies himself with an issue of the Holland Herald he’s read twice already, leafing through the list of tax-free articles as though it’ll be any different this time around. Afterwards, he checks the billion WhatsApp notifications he’s got, most of them worried messages from his mum. 

When Charles returns, he makes a show of bending over to pick up a nearby passenger’s earphones, the iced cocktail still perfectly steady on the silver platter. Grinning, he unfolds Max’s tray table and serves the drink, along with a delicately folded napkin and a plastic card from a hotel in Dam Square. 

* * *

It takes all of an hour for Max to collect his luggage, hop into a cab, and bribe an unamused concierge into staying quiet. He leaves his bags on the bed—he doesn’t plan on sleeping here anyway—and takes his time in the shower, thinking of how unabashedly flirtatious Charles had been, despite the fact there must be some kind of company code against it; in the end, Max finds he quite likes the idea of doing something forbidden to a sinfully beautiful person. 

* * *

Dam Square is always rife with junkies and heavy drinkers at night. Max hates it, but the upside is he doesn’t have to worry too much about being recognised. Still, he covers his face with his hoodie, just in case, and dashes to the hotel.

Security follows him around until he reaches the guests’ lobby and manages to activate the lift with a swipe of his room key. The inconvenience nearly makes him regret not playing the celebrity card—then he remembers what exactly he’s doing here. He decides anonymity is the best option after all.

He finds room 1610, knocking before regret has a chance to stop him.

Charles quickly answers the door, clad in nothing but a sheer bra and undersized shorts. Dark eyeshadow makes his eyes look sweet and come-hither at the same time. “I was waiting for you.”

“Couldn’t exactly come as soon as I landed,” says Max, taking off his hood and shoes, inviting himself into the surprisingly lush room. “Okay, I didn’t think flight attendants earned this much.”

“We don’t,” Charles replies. “I get free hotel rooms because I can’t sleep on the streets, but the pay’s not as great as you imagine.”

“Then why do you do it?” Granted, Max knows he’s lucky to follow his dreams for a living, but he’d expect people to settle for a less taxing career, one that didn’t involve being away from home for so long.

“I will tell you later,” Charles says, sitting on the edge of the bed, thighs parted to reveal a hint of similarly see-through underwear. “But a good side of the job is meeting passengers who make me want everything.”

Heat pools in Max’s stomach. “Are you challenging me?”

Charles hooks his thumbs into his shorts and slides them down, kicking them across the room with a flourish. “Maybe I am,” he says teasingly. “We don’t even know each other’s names.”

“I saw your badge,” Max admits. “I know you’re Charles.”

“And you are…?”

In that moment, it occurs to him that he should at least try to keep his identity a secret. “Emilian,” he half-lies, fully aware that creativity has never been his strong suit.

Humming, Charles beckons him over with bright red nails. “Alright, Emilian,” he says, greedily splaying a hand over Max’s broad chest. “I have wanted you to fuck me for a few hours now, and I really want you to just do it, if you can.”

Instead of bickering, Max kisses him, tasting his fruity lip gloss. It’s unexpectedly hot, and he’s ensnared by Charles’ touch, in love with the way his fingers sneak lower until they’re ghosting over Max’s dick.

Max huffs out a laugh—God, how can this kid be so damn shameless? He pushes Charles flat against the bed and climbs atop him, nudging Charles’ legs apart. There’s a damp spot in his panties, dark with pre, and his cock is so pretty that Max doesn’t resist the urge to tease it through the thin fabric, coaxing a soft gasp out of Charles. 

He leaves a trail of kisses from Charles’ belly up to his sternum, tugging his bra aside. Charles’ nipples are hard, the skin around them flushed pink, and Max licks a wet stripe over one, then the other, Charles making small noises he wishes he could hear for the rest of his life. Max is riled up already.

Slowly, he gets rid of Charles’ frilly underwear, tossing it to the floor. He slides a finger down Charles’ cock, watching his face as he refuses to give in and beg Max for more, teeth digging firmly into his bottom lip to avoid saying anything.

“I want to fuck you,” Max says, eyes still on Charles.

“So fuck me,” says Charles, and grabs Max’s shoulders desperately, like he needs this to live.

Maybe he really does, Max thinks. He keeps his mouth shut, though, and lets Charles get up to find a bag of toiletries, from which he retrieves a condom and a clear bottle of lube. He watches quietly as Max steps out of his jeans and boxers, but the glint in his gaze betrays his excitement.

“Let me put it on for you,” Charles offers. He tears into the foil square, crawls to the edge of the bed, and rolls the condom down Max’s dick, looking up at him with a coquettish smile on his lips. Once he’s done, Charles sprawls lazily across the bed, hips slightly tilted, palming his own chest much like a woman would. “Come on, please.”

Max indulges him. He can’t resist the allure of Charles’ spread legs, and he settles between them, pulling him up by the hips so his cock is level with Charles’ arse. He uncaps the lube and squeezes it out on to his fingers, spreading it over his dick until Charles petulantly kicks the small of Max’s back with his heel, urging him to hurry up. 

In spite of his mild annoyance, he concedes, one hand wrapped around his cock as he pushes into Charles, whose body is almost overwhelming in its warmth. “Fuck,” he says, voice wavering with arousal.

“Fuck,” Charles repeats, a strangled little noise in the back of his throat. “You are so big, oh my God.”

Flattery is the best way into a man’s heart, because Max moves at last, the addictive slide of skin on skin getting to his head. He leans over Charles, mouth pressed to his collarbone, sucking and biting in tandem with his thrusts. Charles’ litany of moans is a perfect soundtrack to the frantic desire building within him, and Max wants more.

“Faster,” says Charles, dragging his nails down Max’s back. “Please, _God_.”

Max gives it to him, then, fucking him harder, a hand tugging harshly at Charles’ messy hair. “C’mon, I wanna hear you scream,” he says, and although he knows there are guests surrounding them, he means it.

“Fuck yes,” Charles cries out. When Max looks at him, he sees tears mixed with dark makeup, lip gloss smeared everywhere, and the most beautiful man he’s ever been with.

“God, yes, I want them to hear you.”

Even untouched, the words are enough to push Charles over the edge. Thick spurts of come land on his abdomen, and he’s utterly debauched. Max doesn’t stop, fucking him even as he goes limp, silent save for his pained whines when Max is particularly rough.

It isn’t long until Max comes inside Charles with a choked moan, shuddering through his orgasm. He doesn’t pull out, not yet—he wants to savour this euphoria as long as possible, wondering whether he can goad Charles into a post-coital shower.

After a while, Charles says, “You’re heavy, get off me.”

“Fine,” says Max, grudgingly letting go of Charles. 

They lie side by side, not daring to speak. Max relives the past day in his head—their first meeting, the path to the hotel, everything—and turns to face Charles. “Hey, you said you would tell me why you’re a flight attendant after we were done.” 

“I was hoping you’d forgotten.”

“Just say it, come on.”

There’s a brief silence, and Max doesn’t expect the words to hurt as much as they do.

“When I was smaller… I wanted to be a racing driver,” Charles says. He looks straight into Max’s eyes, slightly apologetic, and Max realises he’s known the whole time. “My mum hated karts. She didn’t let me try. And I still wanted to feel like I was part of that.”

Max’s throat is dry when he speaks. “So you travel…”

“To watch F1 races. I always take the layovers to those countries, usually on Wednesday, and stay over the weekend.”

There’s a mix of betrayal and sadness blooming in his chest, and Max can’t find the words he wants. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

In lieu of an answer, Charles says, “I’m sorry. You can go if you want. I am so sorry.”

Max gets up and takes his clothes from the floor, hurrying to get dressed. The thought of staying around any longer sickens him, and he walks to the door without a glance backwards before stopping.

“If you had just told me the truth from the start, I would have stayed,” Max says. He leaves Charles behind, alone and finally free to stain his pillow with eyeshadow-coloured tears.

**Author's Note:**

> CHARLES POSTED THAT FUCKING THING AND I COULDN’T SHUT THE HELL UP ABOUT IT.
> 
> Title from _Circle_ by Mitski: “There's a lie that I told to you, I would give you my heart, I think, but it's up in a branch of a tree.”
> 
> If you can guess what airline experience absolutely ensnared me to the point I had to include it in my gratuitous porn, I’m sure you agree that the genever is amazing.
> 
> singlemalter. Tumblr. Yeah!


End file.
